Author: BadgerGater
Email: [email protected]
Rating: G
Season: Written between 2-3, but could be about any time
Summary: In an Alternate Universe, our Jack meets his now teenage AU son
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions; all the powers that be, not me; This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted elsewhere without the author's consent.
Author's Note-- Thanks to Tanya for beta-ing. This author loves feedback. Let me know what you think (beg,plead,grovel)
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The boy was kneeling over the gravestone, the one with my name on it, the one that had so very nearly come true in my reality, the one that said Maj. Jonathon O�Neill, USAF, died 1991, in Iraq.
And he was crying.
Oh, Charlie. My arms ached to hug him.
It was thoroughly by accident that I had found him. Here on this alternate Earth, stuck on base at Cheyenne Mountain while Sam and Daniel worked with the �locals� to solve the scientific crisis that had brought us here, I�d gotten bored and had picked up that sports page someone had left on a table in the mess hall. A hockey picture caught my eye and drew me to the story about the local high school�s team playing tonight for the state championship. A team led by sophomore sensation, winger Charlie O�Neill, highly touted, already college recruited, 15 year old Charlie O�Neill.
In this universe, I was dead and he was alive-- a more than fair trade, in my eyes, one I would make in a heartbeat, if only I could.
My son, in this reality alive, and well. But, seemingly, not happy. Because here he was, on the night his team had won a state championship, not out celebrating with his friends, not savoring the moment with his family, but here, in a dark, cold cemetery, alone at his father�s grave.
Well, one good thing that could be said about this kid, he sure didn�t have his father�s emotional paralysis. I hadn�t ever been able to cry over my son�s grave, and here he was, mourning a father nine years gone.
�Dad,� he said, hanging the ribbon with it�s shiny championship medal over the marker. �I wish you were here. I miss you, all the things we were supposed to do together. You were supposed to be here tonight with me.� I froze. Those were very nearly the exact words I�d said over Charlie�s grave, in my reality. �I wanted you here tonight. Here, to be proud of me. To celebrate with me, to share this with me. Do you know, Dad? This is for you.�
My heart in my throat, I stepped out of the shadows. �He knows, son.�
The boy spun around to face me. My heart stopped. This was Charlie, the same brown eyes, straight nose, spiky blond hair, untamable like mine. Tall as me, already, destined to be taller. Slender, but with width beginning to show in the shoulders. I didn�t think I could breathe, looking there into his face, the face I thought I would never see, the face of my son grown nearly to be a man.
Lord God above, thank you for this moment.
�Who are you? Did you know my dad?�
I thought about my answer, knew I was walking a fine line, being here, talking to this boy. I nodded at the gravestone. �I was there, too.�
�You were there, in Iraq, with him?�
�I was there, in Iraq. A prisoner.�
The boy was staring into my face, pride in his voice. �He was a hero.�
�No, he was a man, just an ordinary man, who loved his family, who did a dirty, dangerous job because someone had to do it, because he wanted the world to be a better place for his kid.�
�Who *are* you? What are you doing here?� he demanded.
In the dusky darkness, bundled against the Colorado late winter chill, he couldn�t get a good look at my face, one that had aged a lot from the old photos, which would be all the memory he could have of me, rather, of his father, the alternate me. Keep your head on straight, Jack. Don�t mess with this kid because you need to fix what you can�t fix in your own reality. �Who I am isn�t important. I�m here, well, I saw your name in the paper, realized you must be the son Jack O�Neill spent all his time thinking about, over there.� I waved vaguely.
�He talked about me?�
�You and your mother, that was all that mattered to him. Getting home to you.� Nothing but the truth, there.
�Then why didn�t he?� his anguished question.
�I don�t know, Charlie. I wasn�t there, uh, then, when he died. But I know he loved you with all his heart and soul. Cherished every moment spent with you and your mother. The memories of you, playing baseball, you still play baseball, don�t you?� he nodded yes. �And hockey, teaching you to skate, that was one of his fondest memories.� I cleared my throat. �That�s what we lived on, there, memories.� More truth.
The boy looked down, kicked snow with his boot. �I hardly remember him.�
�You must have been pretty small when he went to war...�
�Five. And he�d been gone a lot before that. I have this image of him in my mind, but I don�t know if it�s real, or just from the pictures and the home movies, and the things Mom�s told me. Mostly I just remember he was tall, and really strong, and he laughed a lot. Made Mom laugh too. She never laughed much, after.....�
�He�d be so very proud of you tonight,� I stammered, past the lump in my throat, the one that was threatening to choke me. �Hockey, I, I know he loved hockey more than anything. Wanted to play himself, probably the only thing he�d rather have done, than be in the Air Force.�
�Yeah, Mom always said he loved to watch and skate. I�ve got a Blackhawks jersey he had, from when he was a kid in Chicago and Tony Esposito, the Hawks goalie, signed it, it�s framed and hanging on my wall. Mom said it was his proudest possession....�
I stifled a sob, remembering that jersey, the one I�d tucked into my Charlie�s casket. Fought to control my voice, succeeded at least in part. �The paper said college�s are already interested....�
�Yeah, the coaches are always calling, driving Mom crazy. She wants me to stay around here, go to Colorado College or Denver. Then there�s Minnesota and Wisconsin, all in the best college conference, the WCHA. But I keep thinking the Air Force Academy, they have hockey too.�
I swallowed hard. �The Academy? You�d go there?�
�Yeah, I�d like to go into the Air Force.�
�Your choice, or because you think you ought to? I, he, I know he wouldn�t want you to do that unless it was your choice. He�d only ever want you to do what makes you happy. Do it for yourself, not for him, or anyone else.�
�Is that what you would tell your son?� he asked.
Bright boy. �Yes. I�d tell him to do what was best for him, make his own choices. The military is a hard life, Charlie. It demands sacrifices. Your family. Your friends. Sometimes even your life,� I said nodding at his father�s grave. �It�s not for everyone.�
�Then why do it?�
�Because sometimes it�s the right thing. It was for me. It was for him, too, I think. Despite the cost.�
He nodded, understanding, or so I hoped. �I still want to join the Air Force. Mom says I�m so much like him, too much of a daredevil, haven�t got the good sense to be afraid of anything.�
�She�ll worry.�
�She worries about me all the time already, what with all the drugs and booze and guns in schools.�
I shuddered, pushed back the horrible memories of a gun and a child�s hand, hoped the boy thought it was a chill from the cold. �You like school?�
�Yeah, it�s pretty easy,� he grinned my lopsided grin. �Leaves me time to concentrate on the important stuff, like hockey.�
�And girls?�
He blushed. �Yeah. Dad, my step-Dad, he�s always after me to be careful...�
�As he should be.� I paused. �Your stepdad, he�s good to you, and your mom?�
�Yeah, Chuck�s okay. He�s in the Air Force, too.�
�Really? Maybe I know him.�
�Col. Chuck Kawalsky, he works at Cheyenne Mountain.�
Kawalsky, leader of this world�s SG-1, I hadn�t met him here, yet, he�d been off-world since we�d arrived. So he was married to Sara, raising my son, no, Jack, I reminded myself, raising this Jack O�Neill�s son. And missing out on this, the biggest night in the kid�s life. God, no wonder the boy was lonely.
�You�re Air Force, too, right?�
�Yes.�
�Hmm.� Charlie stood quietly, looked at his father�s grave. �He really was a hero, you know. Saved all those other men, helped them escape. That�s why they gave him the Medal of Honor.� He fingered the gold hockey medal he�d hung on the gravestone.
�All dads are heroes, to their sons.�
�I�d rather he was here.�
�I know, son. He would rather be, too.� I looked hard at the boy, trying to memorize this face, engrave this image on my mind forever, a picture to blot out the ugly one from my own reality, that last view of my child�s small still face, in the white casket, gone forever. I reached down, plucked the medal from the cold stone marker, ran my fingers over the raised letters �Colorado State High School Hockey Champions� and the outline of a hockey player, skating in full stride.
�Charlie, don�t leave this here, your medal. He�d want you to keep it, hold on to it. Give it to your own son, someday.� I handed it to him, my fingers brushing his, then turned and started to walk away, my feet crunching in the cold snow.
Suddenly, I heard his footsteps behind me. His hand was on my shoulder, spinning me around. I shivered at the touch. �Sir?� he looked into my face. �Who are you, really?�
�Just a stranger, passing through.�
He looked down a moment, then raised his gaze to meet mine, a smile on his face. �I�m glad you stopped, sir. Made me feel like my Dad really was here with me tonight.�
�He was, Charlie, he�s always with you, here.� I said, tapping his chest, above his heart. And with a final look into those deep brown eyes, slightly puzzled they seemed, I about faced and walked away, my own heart having found a measure of peace I�d thought was forever beyond my reach.
FINIS
